“The mail will stop delivering letters on Saturdays beginning in August!” This announcement has Eleanor in a hum, because she has no idea who “mail” is, other than the chain mail her knights wear — oh, and, of course, the arrogant Lord Hugh, whose forest borders hers, the one whose blue gaze shakes her to her core. Back to the point (not as in dagger), when she has a letter, all she has to do is ask one of her maidservants, probably dear, loyal Agnes, to take it to a messenger — a male messenger, not a mail messenger, and it will be delivered post-haste via horseback, on well-known roads through hamlets and forests. With a flourish of trumpets, her message will arrive at its destination via a male wearing chain mail, Saturday delivery included.

Do any of you dear readers have any comments about the mail? Feel free to weigh in! Anon!